I Dream
by Hypersigils
Summary: A short piece from Yin before the OVA ocean stay goes south. If only words weren't quite so slippery...


I dream of smiling.

In my dreams I raise my hands to my lips and I lift the corners of my mouth so a curve appears.

And in my dreams, when I remove my fingers the smile remains.

A doll is not supposed to dream; this is common knowledge and I never found any reason to doubt it until I met Hei. The first dream I ever experienced was of him taking my hand in his, and I will never forget it as long as I live. Ever since that moment he has made me... confused. He is confusing.  
Sometimes I think I will never understand.

But here in my dreams, I can pretend I know all. In my dreams I raise my face to him and somehow I can see his expression without aid, and somehow I perceive that he answers my smile.  
Sometimes there is more, and this too is confusing. I have felt his lips on mine and I recall that it was pleasant.  
It is not an easy thing for me to talk freely and I'd be glad of never having to say another word as long as I live. Words are flimsy and fake; people lie as easily as they smile and I hate nothing more than a lie. That is why the melody of a piano is so soothing to my heart-music can never tell a lie or try to fool you. And in my dreams I speak to Hei without words, I say everything that could be said and he replies in kind.  
Hei has never lied to me.

It is an anguish to wake, though feeling his presence beside me tempers the pain. He notices my eyes open-though of course they see nothing more than a blackness darker than black itself-and he says my name._ Yin._ It is a sweet agony to hear that word, all the more hurtful because I cannot answer it the way I do in my dreams. I think as hard as I can, trying to convey all I feel, but it does not reach him. I open my mouth to echo the confession but cannot find the words: no phrases or empty sayings could adequately explain how I feel and words lie too easily. He might not believe me or worse, might not feel the same.  
A single word comes out instead: "Hei." I put all the emotion I can into it but my voice just sounds artificial, inhuman. Like a Doll.  
He turns back to his work and I adjust the undershirt on my frame, worrying needlessly over whether some part of me had been exposed. I say I worry when in fact I am not sure if I want to leave this top button open or closed; perhaps I am most afraid he would look away if I did so. Politeness can sting as much as hatred at times.

I am not sorry to be what is called a "Doll;" it allows me certain talents that are useful to me. It makes my outside just as plain as my inside. And it gives me the power to help Hei. Sometimes I wonder if I would still be playing a quiet concierto in an empty building if I had not become like this. Sometimes I wonder if Hei would still allow me to follow him if I was not a Doll. It is painful to wonder, too.

I cannot see Hei without water, but I know what he feels like. I know his hands that dwarf mine, catching my tiny fingers in his grasp. I know the curve of his arm and the hardness of his chest. I know the structure of his face, and I know the subtle tones that indicate his mood. I know when he is angry and I know when he is sad; I know that he is strange, just like me.  
And I know the feeling of his presence, the safeness that washes over me like a warm ripple. Being near him is like a hot tub and a crystal lake all at once: he startles me awake when he comes near but as he does I start to lose the feeling in my head and I become fuzzy. I want to lay back and think of nothing at all; if it were not for a desire to protect him then I would certainly spend my time keeping perfectly still and perfectly quiet so I can hear and feel every sound he makes, even if it is just the deep evenness of his breathing or the solid beat of his heart.

Is it strange for a Doll to have feelings?  
Both Contractors and Dolls are supposed to act completely rationally. Besides our powers, this is what differentiates us from cruel humans. And yet in my time with Hei I have seen the emotionless act very oddly. I remember well the smile that new Doll gave me when I asked her if she was certain. From a sink in the corner I watched her eyes light up when I mentioned the boy trying to save her. It made me feel strange, "watching" that couple so devoted to each other. It was a good feeling and a bad, and I do not understand it.  
There have been more, too, like the Contractors and Dolls employed by the English government. If no Contractor makes an irrational move then why did that woman throw herself in front of an automobile to save Huang? As he, smelling strongly of alcohol, told me the story all I could think was how strange it was. Now I wonder if I wouldn't do the same.

It is pleasant to be in this place with Hei. It is the first time since Tokyo that we have been alone, and the sound of the sea is wonderful. When we walk along the beach I ache to have his hand in mine but I haven't the courage to reach out. Perhaps next time, I tell myself, but I can never bring myself to do so. It is lonely sleeping in a small, cold bed but it is enough to have him in the same room. The two of us watch over each other; I have never felt so safe as when he sits beside my bed and stares into the night. I should like to have him lay beside me, but that would be wrong. Just this much is fine for now: just this much is pleasant.

And when he sleeps I repay the kindness, though I doubt my watch is as complete or as reassuring as his is to me. When the night is quiet I watch him through my Spectre and I dream while waking of nothing in particular: perhaps, his hands or his arms or the warmth of his skin. It is hard to take my attention back to the hotel but this place is safe. We are safe together. I snatch little moments from the night like raindrops from the sky. This night I tiptoed to his side and opened my mouth, tried to smile but failed. I wanted to say all that was in my heart but all that came were two short, stunted words:

"I love..."

I hate words. They're slippery and false. They play both listener and speaker for fools. Actions and feelings speak more true: just once I have leaned in and brushed his lips with mine. Just once I have felt raw electricity race through my body. I wanted to kiss him fully, wake him up or touch his skin, but I am afraid.

Instead, I dream of his smile. I like to think that I would know he was smiling even if I could not see it, though I know such a thing to be ridiculous. But that is what my dreams are for: hoping for something ephemeral, like clutching at a spider's strand.

I dream of him feeling the same way I do.

I dare to hope that one day it will be so, but for now I will simply keep watch. Just a Doll, saying and feeling nothing. He doesn't have to know that just feeling him near changes me in ways I cannot understand.  
For now, it's enough.


End file.
